Chapter Nine
Grace threw herself onto her bed and sobbed into her pillow, waking the cat and sending it fleeing.
She felt humiliated and embarrassed that after all her efforts he had still rejected her, but more than that, her body thrummed with thwarted desire.
She had wanted his mouth on her, his hands, his hard body pressing into hers.
That he had stopped at the crucial moment .
. . The man was infuriating. Anyone else would have been more than happy to accept what she was offering!
Bolton had been happy to take her into his arms and into bed, although it felt wrong to use him as an example.
She had thought he cared for her, and despite the way he had tormented her, she had believed he would still marry her when they were discovered.
She had certainly been willing to marry him, although now she thought about it, it might have been like jumping from the frying pan into the fire.
Bolton could be nasty, although he hid his nastiness in sweet words, but she had never felt completely safe with him.
She had certainly never felt as if she was in control.
Rory wasn’t Bolton. He was the opposite.
In Grace’s opinion, he was playing the part of a martyr, denying himself the wife he had just married because he had made some silly promise to himself.
Even when she had told him she did not care about his promise and she was ready and willing, he had stubbornly refused to consummate their union.
How could he be so irritating? Why was she surrounded by men who refused to behave as she wished them to?
She screamed into her pillow and, when that didn’t help, pounded her fists against it. Eventually she calmed enough to think more clearly.
If Rory had meant what he had said, that he was prepared to support her in her quest to make a new life, then that was all very well.
But trusting him was difficult for her. And surely if he was sincere in his desire to help her, he must also understand her need to be his wife in fact as well as on paper?
Refusing to agree to her wishes still suggested to her that he was going to abandon her eventually, even if he denied it now.
Couldn’t he understand how unmoored that made her feel?
If she was his wife and yet not his wife?
Couldn’t he see how shaky the ground under her feet felt, as if at any moment it might crack wide open and send her tumbling down into nothingness?
As much as she hated the earl, in this instance she knew he had been right. She needed to ensure she was legally married to Rory, but how was she to do that when the stubborn Scot refused to let her into his bed?
With a sigh, she lifted her head. The cat was sitting a short distance away from her, those yellow eyes staring into hers. It looked sympathetic. She reached out and stroked the soft fur, and it made a chirrup sound and began to knead its large white paws on the cover.
Grace had never had a pet and this felt nice. Perhaps she could take the cat with her when she left for wherever she went to next? Her sisters would love it. Assuming they would be allowed to visit her and, as she dearly hoped, one day live with her.
Everything she had dreamed of for her future now felt uncertain because it was in the hands of that stubborn Scotsman who seemed to think the consummation of their marriage was some sort of test of his resolve.
She had thought herself free at last, but she wasn’t.
She had only been transferred from one prison to another.
Although she accepted—with a pang of conscience—that was rather unfair.
The Countess of Strathmore’s home did not feel like a prison.
Downstairs, the longcase clock struck the hour. Soon it would be time to rise, and she had had hardly any sleep, after first lying here waiting and listening for Rory to come home, and then creeping into his room only to be rejected.
The remembered humiliation made her cringe inside and want to avoid him for as long as possible.
Not that that would solve anything. Instead she told herself she must be sensible and aloof, prepared to listen to whatever he was going to suggest to her for her future.
Perhaps he would change his mind and welcome her into his bed after all?
But she did not think so. He had been so adamant.
So pigheaded. No, she did not think Lord Rory MacKenzie was going to change his mind.
*
After Grace had been dressed by the maid in one of her depressing dresses—this one was grey with a line above the hem where it had been let down to accommodate her growth over the past years—she found the countess at her breakfast. Jennie smiled and wished her a cheery good morning, and if her gaze took note of Grace’s shabby attire, it did not linger.
On the sideboard there was toast as well as the more substantial eggs and bacon and sausage, far more than she was usually presented with for breakfast. Grace helped herself to the toast and spread it thickly with marmalade, before pouring herself a cup of coffee with the daring addition of cream and sugar.
That was a luxury she had not had, and she took her first sip with a great deal of pleasure.
Whatever she might think of Rory’s lack of understanding and his infuriating decisions, living in the countess’s house was a definite improvement.
Although she reminded herself that once she moved into some place more suited to her budget, she would need to drastically economize.
Rory would remove himself from her presence, and although he might tell her he was going to protect and look after her, it would be from a distance.
She suspected that as time passed, he would be farther and farther away from her, until eventually he would forget about her altogether.
The countess was frowning. She looked under the table as if she had lost something.
She was a pretty woman, with grey eyes and fair hair, and her smooth, scarcely lined skin belied her maturity.
There was something of Rory in her smile, and Grace wondered what the rest of his family looked like.
Were they also cheerful and attractive? But then she reminded herself that she would never have the chance to be introduced to them so she would never find out.
“Have you seen Bothwell?” Jennie’s question interrupted her drab thoughts.
When Grace turned to her, she found the other woman was still frowning.
“I have not seen him since yesterday. He usually likes to sit here while I breakfast in case there are titbits. And last night he did not come to my bed. It is so unlike him, and I am worried one of the servants might have let him out of the door and he is lost.”
Grace stared, shocked, trying to understand what this meant. Did the countess have a lover who came to her bed? “Bothwell?” she asked cautiously. “What does he look like?”
“He has grey stripes and white paws and his eyes are yellow, although in some lights they look green.”
The penny dropped and Grace gave a laugh. “Oh, Bothwell is a cat! I thought you meant . . .” She bit her lip.
The countess stared at her in consternation, and then her face cleared and she too laughed. “Goodness me, no! I am happily married, Grace, I assure you. Bothwell is my cat, and if I am honest, I am almost as fond of him as my husband.” Her grey eyes twinkled.
“Bothwell slept on my bed last night,” Grace admitted. “I am sorry, I didn’t realize he was yours. I was enjoying his company so much that I did not think to ask.”
The countess’s expression softened in sympathy. “If you are enjoying his company, then I won’t take him away from you, my dear.”
Footsteps were approaching the door to the room and, recognizing them—though how she could after such a short acquaintance she didn’t know—Grace hastily busied herself with her toast.
“Good morning, Aunt Jennie. Good morning, Grace,” Rory said, and cast his eye over the offerings on the sideboard. She could hear silverware clanging as he made his choices and then sat down opposite her at the table with a loaded plate.
The countess cradled her coffee cup in her hands and observed her nephew over the rim. “You were out late, Rory,” she said neutrally.
“Not too late,” he assured her.
“I don’t know what you find to do that is so exciting.”
Rory gave a smile that was more like a smirk, his gaze sliding sideways to Grace. She had been watching their interaction and now looked quickly away.
“I did wonder if you might take Grace out one evening,” Jennie went on airily, pretending not to see her nephew’s frown. “People are more likely to accept that your marriage is genuine if they see you out and about together.”
“Why do they need to accept that my marriage is genuine?” he responded, vigorously cutting up a sausage. “Is it any of their business?”
Grace found herself watching his hands. Those strong hands had been touching her last night, caressing her bare skin.
The hairs on his chest had rubbed against her breasts as she’d pressed closer.
At the memory, her nipples peaked, and she felt desire begin to tingle through her.
She had wanted him and he had wanted her.
“Well,” Jennie said levelly, “it would make a difference to Grace. I am sure she would like to be able to go about in society, and her sisters will need her to chaperone them once they make their debut. She cannot do that if you ignore her, because so will everyone else.”
Startled out of her passionate daydream, Grace opened her mouth to say she had no intention of going about in society, until the last part of the countess’s statement sank in. Of course she must watch over her sisters! And how could she do that if she was barred from polite society?
“Yes,” she agreed, ignoring Rory’s surprised and rather hurt look.
“I will need to be able to go to balls and—and events with Harriet and Prudence. At the moment, I cannot imagine my father allowing it, and even if he did, I would not be welcomed. But if I am accepted into at least some parts of society, he will have less to object to.”
“You see!” Jennie said fervently. She had obviously noticed Rory’s less than enthusiastic expression.
“Grace has been linked to a scandal, and you can help to smooth that over, Rory. If everyone sees you are happy with your wife, and perfectly prepared to squire her about, then others will change their minds, and in time the scandal will be forgotten.”
“Do you think so?” Grace asked quietly. “There have been cartoons, you know. Nasty things.” She shuddered, remembering Ormsby handing her one so that she could see the extent of her transgression.
“I know that it seemed irreparable at the time, my dear, but believe me, there have been far worse scandals. What of poor Lady Caroline Lamb! Your troubles are nothing compared to hers.”
Grace knew that to be true. Lady Caro’s affair with Lord Byron was notorious, and the woman seemed to have no sense at all when it came to her lover.
Rory was cutting up some bacon and egg, ignoring them.
His aunt turned to him again and said in a wheedling voice, “Come, Rory, I’m sure you can fit in some time with Grace between your other, eh, engagements.”
Rory huffed. “I thought you wanted a small cottage somewhere, Grace, where you can live your own life?”
“I did,” she admitted reluctantly, “but now I see your aunt is right. I need to be able to accompany my sisters about. If I lived in a little cottage in the country, I could not do that. My father would probably see to it that I never saw them again.” Her voice wobbled at the thought.
“If I am respectably married and accepted back into society then he will have no cause to stop me.”
Rory was chewing in silence, as if he was trying to ignore her. Grace refused to be ignored by Rory or her father.
“My father thinks he is rid of me,” she said with fierce determination, “but I am going to show him I am not so easily set aside.”
The countess set down her cup with a clatter and proceeded to clap her hands. “Bravo, Grace! That is the sort of fighting spirit I like to see.” Then, turning to her nephew, “Well, Rory? You must help her, you really must!”
Rory sighed. “I’ll think about it,” he said grumpily, but Grace thought he really meant yes. He just didn’t want to admit it.
They didn’t have their chat about her future after all.
Rory said he had forgotten something important he must do and, to Grace’s disappointment, set off on his horse.
The countess slipped an arm about her waist and said, “Never mind. I have plans for us today. I am going to take you to my modiste!”
Grace knew she should refuse, she should say this was not part of Rory’s bargain with her, but the countess was trembling with excitement.
“I do not have children of my own,” she explained, as they prepared to head out in the coach.
“I love my sister’s children, but I think you need me more than them right now.
And if you are to go about in society, Grace, you really will need to look the part. ”
Well, that was true. Grace looked down at her shabby dress, hidden by a cloak that was almost as bad. “I have a little money,” she began uncertainly, “but I will need most of it to live on when—”
The countess waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. It is my treat. You can repay me some day. I may need a friend, you never know.” Her gaze slid to Grace and lingered a moment, and Grace suspected the other woman had some secrets of her own, but she let it pass.
She could have argued and stood her ground, but Grace didn’t want to. She wanted to accept Jennie’s kind offer—although it seemed more like an order—and if she could pay her back one day, then she would.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Jennie smiled and squeezed her arm.